Brooke's Stories

A Letter to my Adopted Daughter














Oh, my little girl..

There are so many things I wish I could write to you and you would instantly *get*. I wish that I could tell you that you’re beautiful and that you’d never doubt it again; I wish that I could tell you how much more important your brain is than your beauty, and that you’d never forget that; I wish I could tell you that biologically there’s someone out there who doesn’t matter, and you’d never waste a minute thinking about him again.

But, I know that’s not how it works. It takes more than a sentence; more than a genuine compliment and more than your mother’s wisdom to do those things.







One day, you’ll be a mom just like me- Somewhat young; somewhat old; somewhat jaded and somewhat optimistic. You’ll probably have your own toddlers running around your own house and you’ll probably be thinking of me and all of my superwoman abilities for raising you and your brother and sister to be the amazing people that you are (at least, you better be!).

And when you get to that age, I know that you will understand the first few years of your life with so much clearer vision and that you will truly appreciate your situation then.

But, I also know that there’s a big chunk of time between now and then, when your vision won’t be so clear.

And your mind won’t be so sure. And your curiosity won’t be so subtle.





You’re going to have questions. And I’m going to have answers- answers that I don’t want to share. Answers that will hurt you. Answers that might make you feel rejected or sad or angry. And as much as I want to sugar coat those answers, I know that I can’t. Even though I sometimes want to, I can’t.

Right now, you don’t understand the biology of how babies are created. That’s a lot less explaining on my part. But, one day you will. One day, we’ll have to have “the talk” that doesn’t have anything to do with the birds and the bees, and everything to do with a person walking this earth who had a part in your creation.

I put myself in that position a lot. I think about how I would feel and what I would think and what I would do.

I know with almost certainty, that I would probably want to do what I most definitely don’t ever want you to do- find that person. Talk to that person. Ask that person the questions that they should be answering. And that makes me anxious because I know that’s your choice to make- not mine.





I wish that I could shelter you from making that choice. I wish that I could avoid it at all costs and never tell you and pretend that it never happened, but I feel it to my core, that you should know.

Because if I didn’t, what would that look like? A sudden revelation at 16 that sends your world crashing down?

I can’t do that. I can’t risk breaking your trust like that and I can’t live in secrecy or fear of discovery.






So, I’m handling this the best way that I know how- by sharing the truth.

And it isn’t all pretty.

But, my sweet girl, it has a beautiful ending.

And the ending, you’ll find in time, is worth more than gold.



Because you didn’t get shorted- you got overpaid.

You got more than most- you got an upgrade; a pro version; a distinguished and admirable and life-changing parent instead.




You got to skip to the front of the line. You got the red Starburst; the middle piece of the loaf; the brownie edge.

You got the cool breeze on a hot day; the movie theater popcorn; the warm sheets right out of the dryer; the Corvette.

I’m in this bubble right now, that I know I will look back on later in life with so much nostalgia. I see your childhood being crafted right in front of my eyes. I see your memories being made. I witness your innocence and joy every day. I know that I will miss this.






And I know that you will remember this. I hope that you remember this.

And that you know that someone may have stepped out- but someone even better stepped in.

And that has made all the difference in the world.













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